Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions
by ThinkingCAPSLOCK
Summary: The professor visits Legal after the events of Unwound Future. SPOILERS FOR THE THIRD GAME.
1. Visitation 1

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussion**

_It can't end like this…!_

Layton waited at the dirty glass booth, staring at the old plastic phone. It was his first time visiting since Clive's arrest, and he wasn't sure what to say. What could he say? Nonetheless he had said he would visit and a true gentleman always kept his word

There was a large clanking noise, and the shuffling of feet with chains alerted the professor to the entering convicts. Each settled down into his respective spot, others waiting in the back. Layton did a quick mental calculation-it seemed that Clive would be the last one out. Finally, a large, ferocious looking bailiff led him in. Prison hadn't been kind to Clive-he looked thinner-paler, even. There was little light left in his eyes.

"Hello, professor." Clive smiled thinly. He looked _tired_. "Good of you to come see me."

Layton frowned slightly. "You speak as though you expected me not to."

"Frankly, I didn't." Clive rubbed his wrists absently. He was slouched uncharacteristically in his chair, leaning towards the glass window that separated them.

Unable to think of a better way to break the lengthening awkward silence, Layton coughed into his hand, clearing his throat. "Ah…are you well, Clive?"

"Not really, professor. I'm afraid that prison doesn't suite me quite as well as levelling London did." Clive chuckled, though the sound was hollow.

Layton's eyes narrowed, analyzing the boy. He wasn't sure if it was Clive's attempt at humour, or if he had really sunk back to the insanity that once consumed him. "Well, Clive. I see no reason for you to be surprised. I wouldn't just leave you here, you know."

Clive looked away, still smiling cynically. "Oh? With my record, I wouldn't have been surprised. The _good professor_ shouldn't have to lower himself to my level."

"I've done no such thing." Layton shook his head.

"Did you come here to mock me, professor?" Clive returned his attention to the man behind the glass. "To chastise me for my failed justice? Are we going to speak about philosophy, professor? Will you teach me how to _love_?" He laughed coldly.

The professor was at a loss. "Clive…why are you acting like this?"

"Look at me, professor." Clive grimaced suddenly. "This is no act."

Layton sighed. "You're bitter."

"Oh? Am I?" Clive cocked his head to the side, smirking. "I hadn't noticed, really. Not with the weekly beatings or the docked rations or the cold showers or the—"

"I'll save you." Layton's voice was soft, yet still clearly audible from the receiver near Clive's head.

Clive bit his lip, pained expression crossing his face. "You'll…you'll _what_?" He tried to laugh, but his voice broke before he could force the sound past his lips. "You'll _save me_?"

"Yes, Clive." Layton nodded. "I've saved you twice before. They say the third time's the charm, you know."

"You're an old fool," Clive snapped.

Layton sighed to himself. Perhaps it had been a bad idea coming here. He knew that Clive had no one else to visit him anymore. All the effort Layton had gone through-after all, it wasn't every day that you got to see someone put away under maximum security.

"Clive, I think-" Layton began.

"No, Professor. I think there's nothing you can say to me anymore. You must really have come here just to rub all my failures in my face. If that's all you have to say, then I think it's time that you get back to your pressing job." Clive moved to leave, but Layton rapped loudly on the glass partition. A guard yelled something, but the professor promptly ignored the outburst.

"I have no intention of leaving you just yet," Layton said. "Nor do I intend to admonish you for your previous actions. What's passed has passed—we cannot change that. We can, however, work for a better future."

"So you believe you can fix me, professor?" Clive sat down again. "Are you going to rehabilitate me?"

"No, Clive. I can't, as you put it, 'fix you'. Only you can do that." Layton shook his head thoughtfully. "I can only aid the process."

"You can't help me, professor. I'm gone."

"I will be the judge of that, I think." The professor smiled gently. "You're not lost yet, Clive."

"You're doing this for Claire, aren't you?"

Layton stiffened. "Why would you bring that up?"

"She came back to save me and now you're doing the same. Don't you think that's a little suspicious, professor? Are you honouring her last wish? I assure you, my wellbeing is of no importance to—"

"Don't say that, Clive," Layton said sternly. "I came of my own accord. Claire has nothing to do with it."

Clive smirked. "Oh really?"

"Yes, '_really_'."

"Have I struck a nerve, professor? Shall I stop talking about your dearly departed?"

"Clive, stop this. You don't know what you're saying."

"I know _exactly_ what I'm saying."

Layton stood, adjusting his top hat. "I'm afraid our time has run out."

"Leaving so soon, professor?"

"I have a class to teach in forty minutes." The professor glanced at his watch absently.

"I believe you."

"You should—it's the truth." Layton's eyes travelled back to the waifish boy behind the glass. "I will return within the week."

"Without a doubt."

Layton regarded Clive's sarcastic expression carefully, frowning slightly. "I wish you would trust me, Clive."

"And I wish there was true justice in the world. We can't always have what we want, _can we_, professor?"

"No…I'm afraid we can't."


	2. Visitation 2

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 2—**

"Good evening, professor. So good of you to join me." Clive stared across the glass partition, a thin smile playing across his lips. He looked no healthier than he had just days before. His dishevelled hair cast grey shadows over his pale face in the artificial light of the penitentiary.

"You always seem surprised." Layton frowned into the red plastic phone receiver. "A true gentleman keeps his word."

"In here, there are no _gentle_men, professor—only men," Clive replied. "So you may allow yourself some reprieve from your _gentle_ duties."

"Is that so? I believe I see a gentleman sitting right across from me at the moment."

"I once was, perhaps. Now, no longer." Clive toyed absently with the hem of his sleeve, pulling at loose threads. "They're moving me, you know."

"Really? I didn't know." Layton was rather surprised at the development. Clive had been put in a maximum security holding area—his mechanical abilities far surpassed even those of the workers, making him a key candidate for escape attempts.

"I'm going to an asylum, professor."

"You—what?"

"They've decided I'm crazy, apparently. Well, who am I to deny it? Even I've realized my fall into the depths of insanity once and a while. Fortunately, you were there to bring me back twice. Will you bring me back again, professor?"

"An asylum…I don't believe it."

"Well..." Clive sighed, shrugging dismissively. "I _may_ have been exaggerating slightly. Though, they certainly emphasized the _crazy_ portion of it."

"I hate to side with your, ah, _lovely_ jailors, but it will be good for you to get help, Clive."

"Because I'm unbalanced." Clive nodded.

Layton hesitated. "I wouldn't say _unbalanced_—merely…_troubled_."

"You're too kind, professor. You wouldn't last a week in here, you know. They don't take kindly to gentlemen of your…calibre."

"I won't argue with you there. I suppose it is in everyone's best interest if I continue to properly uphold the law, then, isn't it?"

Clive made a strange sort of scoffing laugh at the word "law". "I don't doubt it, professor." He looked away. "You'll…you will visit me, even after I'm moved?"

"If you wish for it, yes."

"I…" Clive paused, gathering the strength to force the words out. "I want to see you."

Layton smiled gently. "Then I will visit you."

Clive flushed pink in embarrassment, quickly covering his face with his sleeve to avoid detection from the other inmates. "I can't take it here, professor. I thought I could accept my punishment after all that had happened, but…I can't. I just…I can't. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can hardly breathe—I do my best to avoid the others, but it's _hard_, professor. They—they find me."

"You're being moved to a safer place, I'm sure," Layton replied. "There you will find the comfort you need."

"The comfort I need right now is _you_, professor."

"How so?"

"Speak to me. Talk me back from the fire again." Clive buried his head in his palms. "I can't…I can't do this… _I don't want to be alone anymore._"

"You're not alone, Clive. You have friends waiting for you on the outside," Layton corrected. "We will support you, though from behind these walls."

"Really? You could have fooled me, professor. Until you came, I thought no one out there cared about me worth a damn—other than those that want to kill me, of course. Sometimes I get death threats. Fancy that! Getting death threats in _prison_."

"We are your friends, Clive."  
"We, we, we—you keep saying 'we', but all I see is _you_."

"I'm afraid I found it rather inappropriate to bring either Flora or Luke to this place. They support you, too, though you can't see it."

"They hate me."

"They do not."

"They _should_ hate me, then. Anything else would be crazy. Perhaps they should be going to the specialist instead of _me_."

"Don't be cruel, Clive. You of all people should realize the frailty of innocence."

Clive looked up. "Yes. Yes, I do. I understand it far too well, professor. Protect them from the outside world. Don't let them suffer as we have suffered. We're alike, you know. We both lost something crucial that day."

"Yes." The professor tipped his hat. "But we can't dwell on the past forever. What's done is done—it is time to focus on new beginnings."

"Well, this will be the start of something new. Whether it is for the better or not, however, is an entirely different matter." Clive shook his head, smirking, then hung up and left the room.

The professor watched as the young man's back disappeared from view behind a heavy steel door. "For your sake and mine, I hope it is the former."


	3. Visitation 3

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 3—**

On the third visit, Clive didn't say hello. He shuffled to his seat and sat down, a wilted husk of a youth. He looked across the glass with empty eyes.

"Good morning, Clive." The professor tried to hide his concern, unsuccessfully. Though the location had changed, the setup remained constant. He worried about the boy.

Clive opened his mouth and mumbled something inaudible. He shivered.

"Er—apologies, my boy. You'll have to speak up for me to hear you."

"Help me," Clive repeated. At an earlier time, he would have argued the professor's use of "my boy" when referring to his person. Now, though…it barely registered.

"What would you like me to do, Clive?" Layton asked gravely.

"Help me."

"How?"

"I don't…I…"

"If you elaborate, I may be able to help you."

"I…I can't. They're watching."

"Who are watching?" Layton prompted gently.

"They'll hurt me."

"Who will, Clive?"

Clive bit his lip, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he assumed the air he had once possessed. "The voices, professor. Who do you think? The staff here are always watching. It's worse than prison—much, much worse. Never plead insanity, professor, it isn't worth it."

The sudden change in attitude surprised the professor. Only moments ago, the boy had looked terrified and forlorn…yet now he was confident and composed. "Clive…"

Clive cleared his throat, embarrassed. "I…I am loathe to admit it, but…I'm frightened, professor. It's strange here. I feel myself slipping."

"Elaborate," the professor instructed once more.

"I…the methods they use here, no man can be cured. I feel like _I'm_ the only sane one, and that's certainly saying something. The employees are sadistic and the 'clients'—the victims-are unable to defend themselves. I can't talk to anyone here, because they're either too far gone or they'll administer a stern beating just for the hell of it. I…I don't know what to do."

The professor held his hand over his mouth thoughtfully. "Yes…I see the predicament."

"I…I haven't even…it's the same, professor. The same, but _worse_." Clive slumped forward, hair shadowing his sallow face. His shoulders shook. He didn't care about being seen crying here. Hell, it was considered conspicuous to _not_ be seen crying every often in this place. Some people never stopped. "I can't…I can't even…"

Layton pressed his hand against the glass. "We'll get you through this, Clive."

Slowly, ever so slowly, Clive reached out and placed his own skinny hand over the professor's. "I…I'm not strong enough for this, professor. I thought I was capable of anything, but…I was wrong. So very, very wrong."

"You _are_ strong, Clive. Don't give up quite yet. I will see what can be done."

"They won't listen to you, professor. I did destroy a good portion of London, after all. This is my punishment. Punishment for…for taking all those…those lives, like what happened to me. I'm not better than the Prime Minister, or those scientists. I deserve this."

Layton shook his head. "You're very different from them, Clive."

"No, I'm the same. I…" Clive trailed off, forming a tight fist against the glass. "I…"

"I'll see what I can do, Clive. I won't leave you like this. I promise." At length, Layton stood. "And a true gentleman _always_ keeps his promises."

"Thank you," Clive choked, though he knew it was useless. There was nothing the professor could do.

He was still alone.


	4. Visitation 4

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 4—**

Today, it was Layton who spoke first. "Good afternoon, Clive."

It had been several days since his last visit, during which the professor had spent countless hours talking to mindless administrators and making endless phone calls. He had even enlisted the help of a fellow professor at Gressenheller—Albert Schneider of the law department. Together, they had gone through various scenarios and worked out a variety of plans to aid Clive in the duration of his stay. It was perhaps because of all this work that the professor was heartily disappointed when the boy shuffled in, disposition unchanged.

"Hello, professor," Clive replied at length. His position was relaxed, though not in comfort. He seemed utterly exhausted. The circles under his eyes seemed to be growing more pronounced with every visit.

"Clive…you look terrible."

"Thank you, professor. You look…_normal_," Clive replied through gritted teeth.

"No, that isn't what I meant. I thought your condition would have improved, but—"  
"Improved? Why would it have improved? I haven't been let out, professor. I've merely changed places. Did you think I would get used to it here? I haven't. I won't. I don't want to."

"No, Clive," the professor said quietly. "A fellow professor and I have been going over your case, and—"

"I told you it was useless. Why didn't you listen to me?" Clive shook his head. "I'm afraid I know far more about the justice system than you _or_ your friend. I _have_ seen every side of it, you know." He rubbed his arms roughly with his palms.

"Don't give up, Clive. We've come close to a breakthrough—we've even got an appeal scheduled for next week. Just wait a little longer."

Clive raised his eyebrows. "Do you mean to tell me you're trying to get me _out_?"

"Yes. You don't belong in an asylum."

"This is no asylum, professor."

"I would classify it as exactly that."

Clive frowned. "Your appeal won't be successful."

"It's too soon to say that, Clive."

"It's never too soon." He ran his fingers through his hair.

"I promised you that I'd save you, Clive. I wasn't lying."

"It's been more than a year. There's no sense in bringing up old court cases. They're already cold."

"That's why we'll appeal. You've been a model prisoner, have you not?"

"What has that to do with anything? Even rapists and murderers can be charming once and a while, when it's beneficial to their cause."

"You are neither of those, Clive. You were a victim, too."

"I know what I did, professor." He grimaced. "I'd do it again."

"I sincerely doubt that."

"You aren't in my head. You don't know how I function."

"I know too well, my boy. Trust me on that."

"You'll forgive me if I remain sceptical of your words."

"I will, but it won't stop me from trying."

"Try as you like, professor. It won't work."

"I respectfully disagree, my boy." Layton stood. "Unfortunately, class beckons. I must return to work."

"Mould those minds, professor," Clive replied. "Make them into something better than I could ever hope to become." The professor looked at the youth behind the glass.

"You're quite fine the way you are, Clive."


	5. Visitation 5

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 5—**

Clive sat across from the professor. He had grown accustomed to this view over the past few weeks, though it provided only minimal joy.

"Good morning, Clive."

"Good morning, professor." Clive nodded once in acknowledgement.

"How are you doing today?"

"The same as always, I suppose." He glanced around as though in expectancy. "Shall we dispense with the small talk? I've grown to rather hate it. It's the most I ever get out of the people here."

"My apologies. I came to tell you that the date for the appeal was pushed back."

"I know."

"You know?" The professor adjusted his hat, looking at the youth in surprise. "Really? Did they tell you?"

"I assumed." Clive shrugged. "I told you, didn't I, professor? I will never be retried. The 'powers that be' won't allow it."

"Don't be so negative."

Clive smirked. "I'm not being negative, professor. I'm being _realistic._ Join me, will you?"

"To use your words, Clive—_I won't let it end like this._ Not by a long shot." The professor folded his hands in his lap. Clive turned rather pink and fell silent.

After an immeasurable pause, he looked up. "How is…how is Luke?"

"He's doing quite well. He had to move shortly after we returned home, but he's been visiting quite frequently lately. He was rather overjoyed once he learned to use the public transit system. He's always found the double decker busses fascinating."

"How about the girl…Flora?" He bit his lip. "I doubt she'll ever forgive me for kidnapping her like that."

"She is…rather annoyed still, yes. But she is in perfect health. She's been cooking a lot recently, though it's not been very, ah, _good_ for my digestion."

Clive chuckled. "I…I remember her cooking, if it was only that one time."

"Yes, I would say that it is quite _memorable_."

"Please, professor. Help me." Clive suddenly buried his face in his hands. "I can't…I can't… I want a normal life, professor."

"I know, Clive."

"I want to be with friends, like you."

"You're with me right now."

"No, professor." Clive looked up, stiffening. "I am _near_ you. I am not _with_ you."

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Don't—don't say that to me, professor." He grimaced. "I am not in a mood to be trifled with."

"I am _genuinely_ sorry you feel that way."

"Stop this."

Layton stood up. "I see."

"Leaving so soon?"

"Do you wish for me to leave?" Layton inquired.

"Considering you are my only source of intelligent conversation these days, I would say no. However, I cannot change your mind once it is made up."

"Good, for I have no intention of leaving yet." Layton straightened his jacket. "I will return shortly."

Clive leaned back, wondering what the professor could be planning. However, when the minutes began to stretch on, he started to think that the professor really _had_ left.

"My apologies. That took far longer than I intended."

Clive jumped out of his seat, startled. "P-p-professor!"

"Hello, Clive." Layton smiled placidly at him. "Is this a more comfortable mode of conversation? I'm _with_ you rather than _near_ you now, of course."

"I… How did you manage this?" Clive stared, waiting for the shock to wear off. The professor was actually standing _in front of him_—not across a partitioned table, but _next to him_.

"Thankfully, the rules change with the institution. They may not allow you out, but they'll allow me in on occasion. How else would families visit their loved ones?"

"I…I can't believe it." Clive crossed his arms and leaned against the table. "I would never have expected this. I just…" He laughed, rubbing his temple with his fingertips.

"It seems model behaviour is good for some things, Clive. Now, shall we continue our conver—oh." Layton paused as Clive threw his arms around him.

"Professor…" Clive trembled slightly. "You're…you're actually here."

"Of course." Layton patted Clive's head gently as the boy stifled a sob. "It will be okay, my boy. Just wait a little longer. We'll find a solution. I believe you've paid your dues."

"You've always been a hopeless optimist."

Layton smiled. "I'm not being optimistic, Clive. I'm being _realistic._"


	6. Visitation 6

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 6—**

Clive sat awkwardly before the professor, once more separated by the glass partition. "H-hello."

"Good afternoon, Clive."

Clive covered his face with his sleeve. "Good afternoon."

"Embarrassed?" Layton chuckled. "It's good to know you're still capable of such feelings."

"Don't mock me, professor. I am no psychopath."

"I know." Layton smiled. "I believe, rather than the absence of emotion, you possess too much. Perhaps you've just been repress—"

"I'm not repressed."

"Did you know that pet rabbits will die if not shown enough affection?"

"Are you implying that I am like a rabbit?"

"Not at all."

Clive looked away, face pink. During the previous visitation, he had clung to the professor's jacket like a toddler, burying his face in Layton's chest and sobbing. This previous and undeniable loss of dignity now haunted him. "Don't toy with me."

"I'm not."

"You enjoy seeing me like this."

"I don't."

"You sadist."

"Not at all." The professor shook his head. "How shall I put it? I'm just happy to know that you're…well, human."

"Human?" Clive raised his eyebrows. "As opposed to what?"

"Inhuman, of course."

Clive grimaced. "And here I was under the impression that you understood my motives, my desire for justice. I have thoughts and feelings, too, professor. I am no machine."

"I know, Clive." The professor nodded. "You know, humans are the only creatures that blush."

"What has that to do with anything?" Clive narrowed his eyes as he spoke.

"It means we show embarrassment."

"I'm afraid I'm still missing your point, professor."

The professor laughed. "How can I explain this? Let's just say I've gained more motivation for the cause."

"What _are_ you blathering on about?"

"Nothing, my boy. It's an old man's folly."

Clive scoffed. "Oh really?"

"Yes. Now, on to business, I suppose."

"Yes, _please_."

"Now, we've rescheduled the appeal for next Monday. Is that too soon for you?"

"There is no such thing as 'too soon' here, professor. There is only 'too late' and 'later'." He smirked. "Even my fellow _crazies_ feel the same way."

"You are perfectly sane, Clive."

"Am I? It seems I've had even myself fooled."

"Don't lie to me. I can't help you if you won't be honest."

"I _am_ honest, professor. Or can you not tell when I'm being genuine?"

"Oh, no. I can. It's not much of a puzzle with you, my boy. You're rather…_expressive._"

Clive cursed silently to himself. The professor was right.

"I'll get you out, Clive. But you're going to have to help me."

"At your service, professor." Clive bowed in his seat, smirking. "I am quite prepared to do whatever is necessary to go free."

"Good. Then we'll start with this paperwork…"


	7. Visitation 7

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 7—**

"Are you frightened?"

Clive looked up, folding his hands over his knees. "Frightened?"

"Yes. Your appeal is tomorrow."

Clive gave a bitter laugh. "I have no fear, professor; I already know the outcome. Fear only exists in the unknown."

"Don't say that, Clive." The professor shook his head. "There is no way of knowing."

"You're too naïve, professor. I thought you had learned your lesson." Clive ran his fingers through his hair. "Scars like those don't heal so easily, do they?" He pushed back his bangs to show the thin mark across his temple. "It seems my fortress, too, wanted to punish me at the end. I suppose I'm lucky to be alive."

"Luck has nothing to do with it, Clive. Claire put her own life on the line to protect yours."

"Yes, and I thank her for it. I think it was terribly foolish on her part, but I'm grateful."

"You think it was foolish?"

"Why…why would she do that? I should have died that day. She didn't need to ris—"

"Stop that immediately."

Clive looked back to Layton, glimpsing a pained expression on the professor's face.

"Claire understood, Clive. She knew you deserved to live."

"That doesn't make it any more logical."

"Fine. I shall put it in terms even you will agree with." The professor balled his hands into fists in his lap, his skin turning white across the knuckles. "She didn't have much longer. To her, it was worth the risk."

"Much…much longer? What do you mean by that?"

Layton fought to keep his voice steady. "She was…not fated to be in this time. She returned to the day of the blast not long after your arrest."

"I see." Clive turned his gaze downwards. "That's…unfortunate." They fell into silence, neither making eye contact with the other. Finally, Clive spoke once more. "There is some symmetry between us, then. We are both alone."

"No, Clive. We are not alone."

"Yes—yes, that's right. You have Flora, and…and the boy visits, you said. You have a family again." He smiled slightly. "I envy you."

"_We_ are not alone," the professor repeated. "I promise that I will not leave you."

"You say that, professor, but it's not true. One day, you _will_ leave me."

"I _promise_."

"No, professor. Even you cannot support me forever. Time will pass. Eventually, one of us will die."

"Everybody dies, Clive. It's _because_ we die that we must make use of the time we have. I won't let you waste the rest of your life here."

"I'm afraid you don't have much of a say in the matter, professor."

"I haven't yet. That will change come the appeal."

"Don't lie to me!" Clive shouted, slamming his palm against the table. "Stop promising to fix this! I will stay in here until I _die_!"

Layton waited for Clive to calm down. When the furious trembling finally subsided, he met the boy's gaze and held it. "Clive. Do you _want_ to stay here?"

"Of course I don't!" Clive snapped.

"Then why are you so adamant about leaving?"

"I am _not_! I would give anything to get out of this hellish situation."

"Why do you refuse to accept the possibility of a successful appeal?"

"I won't accept it because there _is_ no possibility. There is no justice in our system—only corruption. Until that is changed, I will be here forever." He smirked. "It seems that _you_ have been forgetting my offense, professor. I am not here because of some small account of petty thievery. I am here because I _destroyed London_. Pursuit of justice or not, victim or not…none of it will matter."

The professor stood. "I see I will not be able to change your mind."

Clive chuckled. "So you have finally come to your senses and given up on making me your _project_?"

"I wouldn't say you're my 'project', Clive," Layton replied, adjusting his hat. "Nor have I 'come to my senses', as you so quaintly put it. I merely understand that I may have to take a different approach to my teachings."

"I am no child, professor. Do not lecture me."

"Sorry, my boy. It's what I do."


	8. Visitation 8

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 8—**

"Well…"

"_Yes_, professor. 'Well'."

"I don't know what to say, my boy."

"Oh, there are words that come to my mind. Four of them, actually."

"I know. I was wrong."

"Yes, you were."

Layton pressed a hand to his temple. "I've…I've failed you, my boy."

"You haven't failed me. I've had no expectations from the start, so you _couldn't_ have failed me."

"We'll try again."

"No."

"We'll call for a—"

"Professor, _stop this._ You're only making a fool of yourself. I'll serve my sentence to term."

The professor paused. "What has changed, Clive?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Earlier, you told me you'd do anything to get out. Why the sudden change in heart?"

Clive smirked. "I have always been aware of my fate, professor. I've only recently decided to stop challenging it."

"There is no such thing as fate, Clive. We alone are responsible for our actions."

"Oh, I know that much. But if _everyone_ is responsible for their actions, it follows that those actions may affect the outcome of a situation, despite a person's own course."

"In this case, the justice system."

"Precisely." Clive rested his chin on his hand. "You know me well, professor."

"Not well enough, apparently." Layton frowned. "I never thought you would accept the ruling so resignedly."

"I've given up, professor. That's all there is to it." Clive shrugged. "I had never hoped for a better outcome. I ruined people's lives—I _understand_ that. I deserve this, no matter how you may try to argue. I may be a victim, but I'm also an aggressor."

"You _say_ that, but I know that you realize it isn't true. What you did was merely the unfortunate path taken by a desperate man. You even said yourself that you invited me knowing full well the danger I posed to your plan. You _wanted_ to be caught. You _know_ that. I can only take that to mean—"

Clive slammed his fist into the partition, making the glass quiver. "Professor! What _you_ _don't seem to realize_ is that I did to others _exactly_ what was done to me all those years ago. The only _difference_ is that what I did was _worse_—I targeted all of London! Do you know how many people could have died? All those happy families I could have destroyed?"

"There were no fatalities, Clive. They covered that in the—"

"You aren't listening to me! It doesn't matter what _did_ take place! What matters is what _could have_ occurred! I _could have_ torn apart so many…so many…" Clive dropped back into his seat, covering his face with his hands and leaning heavily on his knees. "I could have hurt so many innocent people…"

"But you _didn't_. What matters isn't the intangible _what if's_, but _reality_." Layton watched Clive cover his ears with his palms and shrink farther beneath the table. "I _could have_ hit a pedestrian while driving here today, but I _didn't_."

At length, Clive took a deep breath and sat up straight, all traces of previous weakness vanished from his face. "There's a difference between us in your argument, professor."

"Oh? What is it, Clive?"

"You didn't plan on hitting that pedestrian."


	9. Visitation 9

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 9—**

"I brought something for you today, Clive."

"What?" Clive raised his gaze from the table to the professor slowly. "Why?"

"Flora was baking this morning and thought you should have some. Don't worry, it's already been inspected by the staff. There are no nail files present, I fear."

"I would have preferred a hacksaw to a nail file at any rate," Clive replied, eyeing the box suspiciously. "This isn't her version of revenge, is it? I remember her culinary skills rather well."

"Don't worry. I believe she's forgiven you somewhat." Layton pushed the gift through the slot. Clive hesitantly unwrapped the parcel and opened the container, then bit into a cookie.

He coughed. "Er…give her my regards."

Layton frowned. "They're that bad, are they?"

"N-no, just…what did she put in this? I'm no chef, but I have a feeling she switched the salt and sugar quantities."

"A classic," Layton replied. "I rather thought she was getting better."

"I still wouldn't rule out revenge, professor." Clive quickly put the biscuit back and shut the lid.

"I suppose it's the thought that counts."

"If the thought is punishment, I believe I can live without it." Clive subtly pushed the box to the side, out of his line of sight.

"How are you feeling today? Apart from the unfortunately salty biscuit, of course."

"Puzzled, actually."

"Puzzled? Perhaps I can help you, my boy. Every puzzle has an answer!"

"You see, I'm rather confused as to why you keep coming here."

"Pardon?"

"Are you bored now that your little apprentice is away?" Clive smoothed a lock of hair back behind his ear. "Are you trying to replace his company with mine? We _were_ the same person for a brief period. I was actually rather fond of the name '_Big Luke_'… There was no pain behind that name. As _Big Luke_ I could create _new, happy_ memories."

"I visit you because I feel it is what I should do. I am not trying to replace _Little Luke_." The professor paused. "But if you would like for me to resume calling you 'Big Luke', I will do so."

"No, professor. I believe that time has passed." Clive shook his head. "I cannot return to that time."

The professor cleared his throat, deciding to change the subject. "How are the psychiatric sessions going, my boy? Are you making progress?"

Clive smiled bitterly. "Oh, yes. I've gone through three of them already. No one here seems to appreciate my…particular intelligence, we'll say."

"Now, Clive…" Layton warned.

"Are you going to tell me to be a good boy and not toy with the staff?"

"Yes, I believe that is _exactly_ what I was going to say."

Clive sighed dramatically. "_Well_, professor, I must admit that it's actually a compulsion. You see, I hate those who wrongly boast about how they can 'analyse' others. My classmates back in university were much like that, you know. They'd make wild claims about being able to determine so-and-so about so-and-so, when the truth escaped them so wholly it hurt to watch. The psychiatrists here are no different. They say they will _analyze_ me, breaking my very conscience into parts, when they are doing the _precise_ thing my classmates did: guess."  
"Clive, I would have to argue that the staff here have a much better grasp of human psychology than—"

"Yes, yes. They have _experience_ and _theory_ to guide them. The guesses are more educated, but they are _still_ guesses."

"A hypothesis is not a guess, my boy. I am sure you know that."

"Hypotheses are, yes. But there is more in the human brain than the limited framework of a hypothesis can contain. There are no restrictions on the mind, professor." Clive tapped his temple. "Psychology is no definite study. It is a very different sort of science than those used in engineering. A psychologist is no more than a glorified philosopher."

"That's a rather cynical approach, my boy. Psychology, unlike philosophy, can be test—"

"Oh, yes, there are many 'empirical' studies the theories in psychology are founded on. However, there are also many theories based on _case_ studies and other such questionable conjecture. Did you know that there was a case involving repressed memories in which the psychiatrist managed to convince his patients of many false events that took place in their childhood? It wasn't even intentional, professor. Psychology is such an indefinite, shaky science that false conclusions can be made from the strangest evidence."

"Clive, approach this with an open mind. It may not be a perfect science, but if it will help you, you should at least give it a chance."

"Sorry, professor." Clive smiled at the man across the table. "I fear it's impossible for me to open my mind at this point."

Layton's expression grew concerned. "Why not, my boy?"

"It's impossible to open something I've lost."


	10. Visitation 10

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 9—**

"You've returned."

"I never intended to stop, my boy."

Clive smirked. "It's been quite a while, you know. I had nearly thought I was free."

"Do you wish for me to stop coming?" The question was simple, but hung in the air ominously. Clive looked away.

"N…no."

"Then I shall continue visiting you." The professor smiled. "I apologize for my prolonged absence. You probably weren't aware, but student finals finished just recently. I promised myself I wouldn't take any unnecessary actions until the final hurdles were passed. Unfortunately, that meant having to neglect these meetings for a brief period."

"You don't need to explain it to me, professor. I understand completely."

"I thought you would." Layton tipped his hat in the boy's direction. "I would have been more concerned if I hadn't such faith in your comprehension."

Clive snorted. The professor was teasing him. "You have faith in a great many things, professor. Sadly, faith alone suffers in comparison to concrete evidence."

"Indeed it does. That's why our textbooks include diagrams of fossils and outlines of theories rather than drawings of navel-less couples and floating zoos." Layton chuckled, watching Clive fight back a laugh.

"It seems your wit doesn't fade with age. I can't say I've fared as well."

"I would have to disagree with you there. I've been speaking to a few of the staff, you know. It seems you've talked a good many employees into the ground."

"I have my hobbies." Clive shrugged. "In this line of work, they should be prepared for anything. I merely intend to test their aptitude for the job."

"Be kinder, Clive. Not all people are as gifted as you are."

Clive grimaced. "And I am not as gifted as all people."

"Nothing is permanent"

"I can't change the past. I believe we _both_ learned that from our little adventure."

"I am not speaking about the past." Layton stood up, hefting his trunk onto the table. From it he pulled a sheaf of papers, the foremost of which he slid through the slot in the partition.

"What is this about?" Clive asked, taking the paper and glancing at it. "You don't mean to tell me…"

"Precisely." The professor closed the trunk and returned it to his side.

"I don't believe this."

"Believe it, Clive."

"Why are you doing this?" Clive bit his lip, confused. "I don't understand."

"It is not set in stone yet, obviously. I am merely offering this to you as an option to consider."

"I am legally an adult, professor. Going through such a tedious process would be a waste of time for both of us."

"If you accept, I believe it would be worth the effort."

"What makes you think I'll accept such a ridiculous arrangement?"

"Honestly? I don't. However, as I said before, it is an option I am willing to keep open for you."

"This would be in name only. There's no _actual_ benefit to either of us at this point."

"I know," Layton replied, nodding.

"If you understand my sentiments as well as you seem to believe, answer me this, professor. Why did you either bother to set this up?"

"Forgive my assumptions, but I thought it would serve to provide you with something reasonably solid in what you seem to describe as an otherwise unstable life. Please consider it."

"Why would I do something so useless?" Clive returned the form to the table, tracing the edge with his finger. "I may be bored, here, professor, but I'm not _that_ bored. This also has nothing to do with my current situation. It will not help me leave any sooner."

"I know, my boy. I will not force you to do anything against your will. This was merely meant as a tangible indication of my support."

"But, _really_, professor? _Adoption_?"


	11. Visitation 11

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 11—**

"Have you considered my offer, Clive?"

"Yes, professor."

"What do you say?"

Clive smiled coldly and pushed the now-tattered form back through the slot. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline."

"Are you sure?"

"Very. I'm far too old to warrant adoption."

"I see."

Clive glanced at Layton, whose face was shadowed by the brim of his hat. "Disappointed?"

"Yes, actually."

Clive raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"

"I'm afraid I had envisioned a happy family situation."

"I'm not even free, and you're already imagining me moving in with you?"

"Nothing like that." Layton frowned. "Perhaps a cup of tea and a long discussion that does _not_ take place over a cheap plastic receiver and a smudged glass wall."

"And you assume I'd take you up on your offer of tea?"

"I had hoped."

"Let's wait closer until my release to plan the frivolous feel-good activities you so enjoy, shall we?" Clive spotted an ant making its way across the desk and immediately began to toy with it, block its path with his finger every so often. He smiled. "How _are_ you, professor?"

"Pardon?"

"How are you doing? You've asked me many times, but I feel like I have yet to properly return the favour."

"I'm fine, Clive. Flora has taken up knitting and Luke sends me letters every so often."

"Ah-ah, professor." Clive wagged his finger at Layton. "You're changing the subject."

"Am I?"

"I asked you how _you_ were, professor. You replied with various activities your _friends_ have taken up. That does not answer my question."

"If that had been all I said, you would be correct, my boy. But I believe I prefaced the description of their doings with 'I'm fine'."

"'I'm fine' is what you tell staff members when you want them to go away. It's a dismissal, not an answer."

"Perhaps in your mind. I, however, _am_ fine."

"I don't believe you."

"There's no reason for you not to."

Clive tapped his temple. "Don't play games with me, professor. I am not Luke. I know when you're lying because you are me."

"I 'am you'? How so?"

"We're the same, professor. You know that. You know what I think, how I act, what I believe."

"Not at all. If I did, quite a number of my actions would have been unnecessary. If I knew your thoughts so well, I would have been able to predict your rejection of my offer."

"But, professor, you _did_ predict this outcome."

"I'm afraid I did not."

"Don't lie to me. I can tell when you're lying. That's the funny thing about being a journalist—you learn to tell when people are lying." Clive chuckled. "But I don't even need that experience when it comes to you. You are an open book, professor. I can read you like _that_." He snapped his fingers, then returned to his game of guiding the ant around the desk.

"Then let us say you can tell when I am lying. Can you tell what I am lying about? Why?"

Clive frowned. "No, though I can guess."

"By all means, tell me your thoughts."

"You are _not_ fine."

Layton paused. "I believe you made that clear already."

"Tsk, tsk. Let me finish, professor. You are _not_ fine because you keep visiting me. I remind you of Claire, which makes you sad. _However!_ You are also unable to _stop_ visiting me because of that very reason." Clive suddenly flicked the ant from the desk. "Quite the Catch-22, isn't it, professor?"

"I understand your reasoning, Clive, but I'm afraid you made one mistake." Layton tipped his hat.

"Which is?"

"You don't remind me of Claire."


	12. Visitation 12

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 12—**

"Good morning, Clive."

"Morning, perhaps. I would argue the quality, though."

Layton watched the boy from across the partition. Clive was looking worse than he had the last few visits. The dark circles under his eyes had returned, emphasizing the paled skin on his face. "Are you well, my boy?"

"Do I seem well, professor?"

"I was under the impression that you had been doing better as of late."

"Impressions are nothing. All that matters is truth."

"Have you been sleeping?"

"Sleep? What's that?" Clive laughed bitterly. "I don't think I remember a time when I slept _well_, let alone at all."

"You have to have slept. It's impossible to go long periods without it, my boy. You'd die."

"I'd go crazy first." Clive smiled. "And look where I am, professor."

"You aren't crazy."

"You keep saying that, but I'm not so sure that it's true. Thinking back, I've probably always been like this."

"Like what?"

"_Different_."

"Everyone is different, Clive."

"And I suppose we're all special little snowflakes, too, are we?" Clive shook his head. "Oh, no, professor. After my parents died, it was difficult to connect with others. I wasn't like the children at my school. I couldn't speak to them on the same level. Well, then again, I suppose nothing has changed."

"Give people a chance, Clive. You're being unfair."

"Don't you feel the same way, though, sometimes? After all, you're the only person I feel I can talk to like this."

"I am honoured."

"The way you avert the focus of the conversation from my questions seems to answer in the affirmative."

Layton sighed, brushing a fleck of lint from his collar. "If I've ever felt like I couldn't connect to someone, it's because I haven't been trying hard enough."

"Not all things in life are solved just by _trying_, professor."

"I never said they were. Conflict between people, however, is. If you do not succeed the first time, it means you've been going about it the wrong way. The only way to reach an understanding is to keep trying until you find the right method."

"That's foolish. Why should _I_ do all the work?"

"Mock me as you might, Clive, but it worked with you."

Clive flushed. "So you do not understand me after all."

"Not fully, no." The professor put his hand to his mouth, tapping his lip thoughtfully. "But I intend to. At first, I couldn't fathom your thinking at all. Your motives were unclear to me. Now, however, they are quite clear to me. Had I been in your situation, I might even have done the same."

"I'm afraid we won't see eye-to-eye on this issue, professor."

"Why not, my boy?"

"You _were_ in my situation."


	13. Visitation 13

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 13—**

"Clive…"

"Don't say it, professor. I know how I appear to you." Clive shook his head.

"But this is…this is awful."

"You don't need to keep visiting, professor. You can always forget about me."

"In this situation, there is all the more reason to continue visiting. I can't forget something like this." Layton shook his head sadly. "How long has it been since you slept?"

"Slept or slept _well_?"

"Either. Both."

"I have not slept _well_ for about ten years, give or take. I have not _slept_ in…" Clive stared into the distance, a surprised expression suddenly crossing his face. "Oh. I've lost count. How many days have I been here? Was it before or after…?"

"That's not possible, Clive. You have to have slept at _some point_ recently, or you would not be here talking with me."

"I'm sure I have…" He continued to gaze off in the same arbitrary direction. "I just…can't remember."

"You aren't well, my boy."

"But when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw." He giggled suddenly. "A hawk from a handsaw! Isn't that line witty? Well, it was wittier back in the day, really. Did you know a handsaw used to be called a 'hawkshaw'? That's why he put the line in the play. It makes more sense when you think of it like that."

"Have you finally snapped?"

"Snapped? _Snapped_? Oh, no, my dear professor. I haven't snapped. I'm still pencil as a sharp!" He paused. "Wait, that can't possibly be right…"

"This manic behaviour…you must be putting on an act."

"It _seems_ that I am, doesn't it? But _seems_ can turn to _reality_ if you go too far. Hamlet learned that, you know. I did an entire study on him while I was in university. How shall I say it? I felt that he…_mirrored_ me, pardon the pun."

Layton blinked. "Er…what pun, my boy?"

"Oh, that's right. There wasn't one, was there? My mistake."

"How long has it been since you ate?"

"Since I what?"

"Since you ate. You're looking far too pale."

"Well, I haven't seen the sun since I've been here. It's all artificial light, you know. They could at least allow us windows once and a while!" Clive barked a laugh. "Who can tan when a…when…hey, those words rhyme, don't they? Tan and can. Can and tan. Tanacana—"

"Clive."

Clive snapped to attention, shaking his head. "My apologies, professor. What were you saying? I seem to have drifted off."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"When I what?"

Layton made a strange noise and rubbed his temples roughly with his hand. "When you _ate_."

"I ate what?" Clive scratched his head. "You'll have to do better than that, professor, I really don't understand what you're saying. Have you been sleeping well?"

The professor nearly let loose an exasperated sob. "I am fine, my boy."

"Really? You don't look well. You're all white and trembly."

"That's _you_, my boy."

"Oh? Is…is it? I suppose you're right, then." Clive spun around in his chair. Unfortunately, it was both backed and stationary, and he slammed his thigh into the edge. He bit back a few choice curses. "Chaiiirss…"

Layton sighed. "What would it take for you to calm down?"

"Calm? I've never _been_ calm, so that's quite the question you set for me. I certainly _seem_ calm at times, but no, I've never actually _been_ calm."

"Which is the act, then?"

"I don't know what you mean, professor. Act? What act? The play's the thing? The thing's the play? All the world's a stage, you know, and—"

"Clive." Layton stared calmly at the boy, catching his gaze. "Stop."

"I'm sorry, professor." Clive smiled ruefully.

"It's quite alright, my boy. Just collect your wits and we can continue our discus—"

"No, you misunderstand me." He shook his head with a laugh.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, professor. I _can't_ stop."


	14. Visitation 15

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 15—**

"Wake up."

Twitching eyelids. "P…professor? Why are you here? Visiting hours are over…"

"Do you know where you are, Clive?"

Clive paused. "I'm starting to wonder, actually. At first I thought I was in my cell, but as you're here, I'm sure I am mistaken."

"You're in a hospital."

"Am I? Well…that's interesting."

"No, it is _not_ interesting."

"Really? It is to me. I'm assuming you're not the one that suddenly woke up here."

"Do you know how worried I was?"

"Worried? For what?"

"Not 'for what'. For '_who_'."

"Oh. For _who_, professor?"

"For _you_."

"For me? Why? I'm perfectly fine."

"Do you remember what happened during our last meeting?"

Clive thought back. "Not really, no." He closed his eyes. "Hm. How odd."

"What?" Layton took a deep breath, softening his tone again.

"I…I can't seem to move."

"You've been given a sedative."

"Oh." Clive was silent for several minutes. The professor was beginning to think he had fallen asleep again when the boy opened his eyes once more. "Why was I given a sedative?"

"You…you had a breakdown, I would say."

"Oh. Did I? That…I would say that it doesn't sound like me, but then, nothing really sounds like me these days. Not even this voice." He laughed. "I…I don't remember the sound of my own voice, professor."

"Those are the drugs talking."

"No, I… Oh! What is…what…" Clive blushed, then cleared his throat. "Never mind. It probably _is _the drugs speaking for me, then."

"Why? What did you see?" The professor leaned his elbow on the bed, watching the boy try to rouse himself from dreams.

"I…For a moment, I thought I was…I thought I saw Miss Claire." He chuckled. "But that was _obviously_ fantasy. How strange."

Layton felt his throat grow tight for a moment. "Yes. Hallucinations are funny things."

With great effort, Clive managed to manoeuvre his hand from his side to touch the professor's cheek. He grinned. "Don't be sad, professor. You've still got me."

The professor snorted, pulling Clive's hand back to the bed, grasping it tightly in his. "_You_ are my problem, it seems. Don't give me such a fright; it's bad for this old man's heart."

"_Old_. You say _old_ as though you're _ninety_. You're barely old enough to be dreaming of retirement, professor, let alone talking about heart attacks."

"Heart attacks are not limited to the old, Clive. You should know that."

"Yes…yes, I suppose you're right. Death comes at any age, doesn't it? It doesn't…it doesn't discriminate."

Layton suddenly realized how lucid Clive seemed to be. "Have the drugs worn off? Are you in any pain? I can fetch the nurse if—"

"Professor, why do people die?"

"P-pardon?" Layton stared. Clive was far too old to be asking such questions—had the drugs really not faded? Perhaps the moment of clarity was merely an accident, or perhaps…?

"Why did my parents die? They had lived in that apartment complex all their lives without a fault, and yet…it is that very act of _existing_ that led to their deaths." He glanced at the professor, squeezing his hand. "And…and your Claire, she…she died, too…It doesn't make…_sense_."

Layton sighed. "She was working on the machine itself, Clive. It makes perfect sense that she was caught in the blast, no matter how much I wish it weren't so."

"No…no, it…it shouldn't…" Clive furrowed his brow, staring fixedly at a point on the ceiling. His words were becoming more slurred now, unable to hold a coherent sentence together. He bit back a sob. "It…_no…_they can't…_died, _professor…."

Layton smoothed the hair back from Clive's face. "I know, my boy. It's difficult. You'll feel better when the doctors have patched you up. You probably won't even remember this at all."

Luke took a shaky breath, then looked Layton in the eyes. "_I'll remember._"

"You say that, but it seems the sedative has begun to work its magic again. I'll leave you to your rest." Layton began to stand.

"_Don't!_" Clive moved with surprising agility, grabbing the professor's sleeve. "I—_aughh!_"

"Don't move around so recklessly, you'll hurt yourself." Layton put a palm on the boy's shoulder and pushed him back against the pillows. "You won't get better if you don't relax."

"Don't—don't _leave me_, professor." Clive grimaced, tears trickling down his face.

"I won't, I won't," Layton promised, sitting at Clive's side once more.

"Don't be like them, professor. Don't leave me."

"I won't."

"I don't want to be left alone again…"


	15. Visitation 14

AN: Your wish is my command. And yes, chapter 14 comes after chapter 15 for those of you who noticed.

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 14—**

Today's setup differed from the norm Layton had come to observe. No, today was quite different than the rest.

For one, Clive was sitting on a couch. Under normal circumstances, this would be usual. Today, however, the circumstances were not normal. Clive was sitting upside-down. That is to say, his feet were where his head should be, and his head was were his feet should be.

He crossed his fingers and rested them lightly on his stomach. "Hello, professor."

"Hello, er, Clive." Layton looked down at the boy that was staring placidly up at him. "The staff members told me you were acting a little…strangely…lately."

"Oh? Did they?" Clive smiled politely. "I can't say I've noticed."

"Isn't the blood rushing to your head, my boy? That can't be good for you."

"Blood?" Clive blinked. "Oh. Right. My posture. Yes, I hadn't noticed." He flipped his legs back down and put his head on the sofa's arm. "Ah. Much better. I can lie much better here."

"Lie?" the professor repeated.

"Yes. _Lie._"

Layton sighed. The boy would be the death of him. "And by lie you mean…?"

"Ooh, very good, professor. The staff here would never have caught that. I should have expected more of you." Clive chuckled to himself.

"Why are you doing this, Clive?"

"Doing what?"

"Your act may fool the staff, but you won't fool me. I know you."

"Yes, you do, don't you?" Clive frowned. "Well, there's no time to waste like the present!" He sprang to his feet and began pacing around the nearby circular table. The common room was a dreary place. They didn't even get a telly. The _prison_ had a telly. An old telly, yes, but at least it _had_ one.

"Why are you doing this?" Layton said again.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, professor." Clive stopped suddenly, facing the wall. "If I had been the architect on this project, there would be a window here. Don't you think there should be a window here? _I_ think there should be a window here."

"Calm down, Clive. Take a deep breath."

"I am calm," Clive replied. "I'm never calm."

"Last time I came, you had the same manic disposition. What is the purpose of this act?"

"And I _believe_ we discussed this last time, professor. It _is_ no act."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, you might as well believe me. What have you got to lose but your sanity? I've already lost that, you know, and I can surely say I'm better off without out."

"There are those that would disagree with you, my boy."

"And you're one of them." Clive turned from the windowless wall and smiled at the man behind him. "Correct?"

"Yes." The professor nodded. "Man is nothing without his thoughts."

"Oh, but I still have thoughts, professor. Wild thoughts. Strange thoughts. Thoughts I had before but never gave any attention to. It turns out, though, that it's much more exciting this way."

"I would have thought you'd had your fill of excitement already." The professor stepped closer to the boy, who subtly spun to the other side of the table.

"I had enough the day my parents died. I had _enough_, professor. Do you understand?" Clive laughed, though his eyes weren't smiling.

Layton did _not_ laugh. "Clive."

"Yes, professor?"

"Come here."

Clive bit his lip, suddenly nervous. "No, professor."

"Come here."

Finding himself unable to disobey, Clive hesitantly walked the far length of the table to the professor. "W-what is it?"

Layton put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Clive, a true gentleman never resorts to violence."

"Er…" Clive, for once, felt himself at a loss for words.

"That said, however, I'm afraid I must do this. Please forgive me."

"Do wha—" Clive was interrupted by the professor's sudden open handed slap across his cheek. Though there was minimal force, he stumbled and fell to his knees. "I…"

"Never speak like that again. Do you hear me, Clive?" Layton warned. "The staff members here may put up with your words, but I know the gravity behind them. Do not think of such things."

Clive held his hand to the reddening mark on his cheek. "I…I should have known that'd you'd…you always…"

"Now, then." Layton knelt beside the boy. "Have the hysterics passed?"

Clive threw his arms around the professor like he had so many visits prior. Layton swayed, balance overthrown, but quickly leaned against the table. "P-Professor…"

"I know, I know. This was probably a long time coming for you." He rubbed Clive's back kindly. "Repression's an unhealthy thing, my boy. If you feel the need to talk, I am always available."

Clive muttered something into the professor's chest, gripping Layton's suit jacket tight. "Always…it's always like this. I always do this."

"Well, I suppose I can't blame you." Layton sighed. "Who else can you go to for comfort? I'm sure anyone that reminds you of your former life comes as a blessing."

"Don't let me give up, professor."

"I won't."

"I'm—I'm scared."

"To be honest, you even frightened me for a moment. The look on your face was quite terrifying."

"Don't let me…don't let me do this again."

"I won't."

"I don't want to run into the fire." He buried his face in the familiar orange shirt.

"No worries, my boy. I won't let you."

Clive stayed motionless for a while, then pulled away rather abruptly. He stared at his hands in shock, as though in disbelief of his actions. "What have I…what have I done?"

"Clive?" Layton got to his feet, concerned. He offered to help Clive up, but was swatted away in an almost absent-minded gesture. "Clive?"

Clive leaned on his heels and swayed to a standing position then stumbling back, eyes never leaving his hands. "What have I…"

"Clive?"

"I-I'm sorry, professor, I—I—I have to get out of here!" Clive made a mad dash at the door, seemingly unaware of where he was.

"Clive!" The professor grasped at the boy as he flashed past, but his fingers clutched at only empty air. "Clive!"

The guard standing at the door was not so slow. He caught Clive straight round the throat and shoved him roughly away. Clive tripped and fell helplessly towards a table, hands still at his neck in a too-late defence.

A deafening crack rang throughout the room.


	16. Visitation 16

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 16—**

"Good morning, Clive."

Clive's eyelids fluttered and he muttered something incoherent. "P…professor?"

"How are you feeling, my boy?"

"It…I can't breathe."

"I'm sure you can."

"It…it hurts."

"Well, that's to be expected." The professor picked up an apple from the small basket beside Clive's bed and began peeling it.

"Perhaps for you. I haven't the foggiest about what's happened. How did I get here? I—_aughh_." He had been moving to sit up, but gave a yelp of pain and fell back against the pillows. "What the devil?"

"You fell on a table, I believe."

"I _what_?"

"I'm sure I explained this before, but you probably weren't in any state to remember. You had a bit of a breakdown and tried to escape. The guard, of course, wouldn't have any of that, and well… You ended up falling on a table. You gave me quite the scare, really. The sound it made was rather terrible."

"It?"

"Your rib. You've broken it. I'm afraid you landed badly."

"Oh." Clive stared at the ceiling numbly. "Well, that explains a lot."

"Indeed." The professor made a smooth motion with the knife and a long, curving string of peel fell into his lap. "Would you like an apple?"

"What? No, I—_how did you get a knife in here_?"

"It's a normal hospital and a blunt knife. I'm afraid the only thing it can cut is fruit. Are you sure you wouldn't like some? These apples look quite good, if I do say so myself."

"Did…did you bring them?"

"No, I'm afraid not." The professor chuckled. "I should have, though. It's rude of me to not have considered it."

"Where did they come from?"

"Oh, I'm sure you could guess."

Clive couldn't guess. "There is no one aside from you that I can imagine doing something like this."

"Don't be so narrow-minded. Every puzzle has an answer!"

Clive groaned. "Don't make me think. I've lost the capacity at the moment."

"Perhaps that will do you some good. You seem to _over_-think things quite a bit."

"Just tell me, professor."

The professor smiled, cutting the apple into eights. "A handsome young man in a hospital filled with eager young trainees? It doesn't tax the mind much to think that one of them may have taken a fancy to you."

"A…one of the nurses did this?"

"I would assume so. If you keep your eyes open, you may catch a glimpse of her—she's passed the room at least six times since I've come."

"I…I don't want her."

Layton frowned. "That's rather harsh, my boy. I've told you before; you have to give people a cha-"

"I don't need some superficial tart!" Clive snapped, grimacing as his side gave a painful throb in response.

Layton fell silent for several minutes, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of apple. "Are you in much pain? Shall I call the nurse?"

"Not _that_ nurse."

"Clive…"

"Look, professor—the _only_ person I care about right now is _you_, so stop trying to replace yourself with some foolish girl. You _knew_ what you signed up for when you started visiting, making all of those silly promises and—"

"I'm afraid you misunderstood me." Layton shook his head. "I'm merely trying to teach you to be kinder. Calm down, now, or you'll hurt yourself."

"I already have, as you've so nicely explained to me."

Layton began peeling another fruit. "Have a piece of apple."

"No."

"It's very good. You should at least try—"

"I already have everything I need, professor. I don't need anything else."

Layton sighed sadly. "Sometimes, my boy, life is about 'want', too."


	17. Visitation 17

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 17—**

"Don't you ever go home?"

Layton looked up from the textbook he had been editing. "Oh, you're awake. Good evening, Clive."

Clive struggled to sit up. The professor reached out a guiding hand, but was quickly swatted away. "I'm _fine_, thank you."

"How did the surgery go, my boy? I haven't yet asked."

"As well as could be expected, I suppose. I never dabbled much in medical studies." Clive gingerly brushed his fingertips against his side, wincing. "However, I did see a fair share of corrupt hospitals in my time as a journalist."

"Positive thinking, Clive."

"Hm." Clive pushed his pillows higher on the bed and leaned back, folding his hands in his lap.

"You're looking well."

"Am I? I suppose it is less…_stressful_ here."

"I'm glad. You needed a vacation from that dreadful place."

"I wouldn't call this a vacation, professor. I'm still very much under observation." Clive's eyes flicked to the heavyset man standing off in the corner of the room. "Even in this condition, they feel I'm a risk."

"It's their job to be careful."

"It's their job to pay attention to _those who warrant it._" Clive gave a sudden laugh, cutting it off quickly. "Hng—Though, I suppose, I _do_ warrant it. Sometimes I forget myself."

"Be careful, my boy," Layton warned, flipping the page of his book.

"Have you ever tried regulating your breath, professor? It's more difficult than it seems."

"Shall I call the nurse?"

"I'm afraid only time will fix this." Clive massaged his side gently. "And I would prefer if you _didn't_ call her. She's rather frightening."

"She's just a sweet young girl. A little overly enthusiastic, perhaps, but—"

"Professor, do you know what I found in that basket of fruit? _A lock of human hair._" Clive shivered. "I can only hope it was hers."

"Well, that's…that's a rather unique approach." Layton frowned, adjusting his hat.

"'_Unique approach'_? Yesterday, she told me my _skin_ was looking nice!"

"Well, comparatively I suppose so. You've gained some colour back in your cheeks since you came. Perhaps that is what she was referring to."

Clive put his face in his hand. "Professor, you're far too positive."

"Nonsense! You're just far too negative, my boy." Layton smiled and marked his book with a red pen. "Goodness, I wonder who wrote this? I was told to review the text, but…some of these sentences are ridiculous."

"Textbooks are generally ridiculous, professor."

"So say many of my students, yes." Layton nodded, furrowing his brows. "Looking through this, I'm suddenly inclined to agree with them. How can you study from this? It's not even linear, and this is an _archaeology _textbook. If anything, history courses should be linear. You can't expect someone to learn things properly if they aren't in order."

"I sided with the Englishes, myself. At least there are no skewed timelines to bother with." Clive chuckled.

"Skewed timelines, indeed. Perhaps if you took a history course or two, you would have been dissuaded from the whole _Future London_ charade."

"It was a good ruse, though, wasn't it? I had you fooled for at least a little while."  
"Indeed you did. The architecture was brilliant on your part."

"Everything seemed rather _green_, though, didn't it? Oh well. I suppose it's been destroyed now. I would have hoped for it to find some sort of use after the fact, though I suppose my hopes are in vain now."

"You haven't heard? It's being converted into inexpensive housing units for students with classes in London."

"Oh?" Clive raised his eyebrows in surprised, turning rather pink. "I'm…I'm glad."

Layton winked. "Sometimes it pays to be positive, my boy."


	18. Visitation 18

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 18—**

"What is the meaning of this, professor?" Clive frowned slightly, regarding the pair of slender wineglasses in Layton's hand.

"To congratulate you on your release, m'boy." Layton cracked the seal on a bottle of sparkling cider and poured them each a drink. "From the hospital, of course. I'm afraid your release from…ah…the—"

"You can say it, professor." Clive smirked. "The asylum."

"Well, yes. I'm afraid that's still rather a ways in the future."

"Isn't it always?" Clive glanced out the window, watching the snow fall. "I'll miss natural light, I'm afraid…"

"I'm sure they'll install windows soon." Layton held out a glass. "Surely, they must realize that sunlight is by itself a powerful healing agent."

Clive snorted, accepting Layton's offer. "You would think so, wouldn't you? Sometimes I wonder how many of the patients suffer from SAD in comparison to how many of them are _actually_ depressed. I can't even tell in regards to myself. Though, the window has helped somewhat."

"I'm glad." Layton smiled encouragingly. "Just stay strong, Clive. The months will fly by."

"That's what I've been told." Clive watched as tiny bubbles rose from the pit of the glass and fizzled to the top. He bit his lip. "I don't want to return."

"I'm sure your admirer will miss you, yes, but I'm certain she will visi—"

"I don't _want_ her to visit!" Clive snapped. "The only person I _want_ to visit is—is—" He stopped, taking a deep, calming breath. "…is you, professor."

"I'm flattered." The professor chuckled. "We haven't always parted on happy terms in these meetings, but I do enjoy them."

"As do I." Clive looked out the window again. "Are you lonely, professor?"

It was Layton's turn to stare into the glass. "No. I am…quite content."

Clive glanced at the older man. "Ah-ah, professor. You hesitated. You can't be as content as you believe if you can't even bring yourself to say it."

"No," Layton said, "You are probably right. I am lonely sometimes, yes. When it snows, I think of the last winter I spent with Claire. It makes me rather…nostalgic."

"I used to go sledding with my parents on days like this," Clive said. "When the snowflakes were fat and fluffy. My aunt tried taking me a few times after the accident, but—well, it was never quite the same."

"I can't imagine it would be." Layton took a sip of cider.

Clive twirled the glass slowly between his fingers. "A human can never take the place of another. Strange, isn't it? How an identical experience can change so extensively depending on with whom you share it."

"Is it so strange? Everyone is different, so it makes sense that everyone has their own unique effect on an outcome."

Shaking his head slowly, Clive replied, "No, professor. I'm afraid we are all very much the same."

"How so, my boy?"

Clive lifted his glass to the light to more effectively see the rising bubbles. "That is a puzzle I will leave to you to solve." He set the glass on the bedside table and rolled on to his side to face the window, his back to the professor. Clive pulled the sheets tight over his shoulders. "I'm afraid I've grown weary. Forgive my rudeness, professor, but I've had an exhausting day."

"Rest well, then, my boy." Layton rose, noting the still-full glass of cider Clive had discarded. He lingered under the pretence of adjusting his coat and hat.

It was only when Layton got to the door that he heard the muffled sob drift from the bed.


	19. Final Visitation

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Final—**

"Welcome back, Clive."

"I believe it is a little late to be saying that, professor." Clive rested his cheek on his palm, flashing Layton a bored look. "I've been here quite a while. _I_ should be saying that to _you_ now."

"Ah." Layton nodded. He waited.

"What?" Clive broke the silence impatiently.

"I thought you were going to welcome me." Layton frowned silently.

"I didn't say I would."

"No, you didn't. It just sounded like you would. I'm disappointed."

"If you're disappointed at such small things, professor, you won't have a very happy life."

"On the contrary, my boy, we must live life vicariously! Take pleasure and pain in the small things and the soul will be that much more enriched."

Clive looked away, a pained expression suddenly playing across his face. Layton's smile slowly faded away, only to be replaced by concern.

"Is something wrong, my boy?"

Clive deliberated for several moments, as though unwilling to speak. "Yes, professor. I'm afraid there is."

"Well, out with it. I'm sure there's no problem too difficult for the pair of us to solve!"

"No, professor. I believe this is something you may not be able to help me with." Clive shook his head and grimaced.

"Girl troubles…?" Layton prompted. "I may be old, but I assure you, I've become rather experienced in the art of courting. Claire wasn't one to be easily wooed, you know. I'm sure we can work this out."

"No, professor. I have no need for such a thing."

"Then what is it?" Layton's voice grew stern. "Tell me, please, Clive."

"I'm—I'm trying." Clive gripped his arms tightly. He didn't want to face the professor. He didn't want to tell him.

"Better out than in, I'd say."

"I—" Clive started, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "I've been told that I'm not allowed to see you anymore."

"What?" Layton tipped his hat up. "I'm…shocked, to say the least. I had heard nothing about this. Are you sure?"

"Why would I lie to you, professor?" Clive ground his forehead against his palm. "Why would I…why would I want such a thing? They told me this was the last time I could see you."

"Did they tell you why? I'm sure we could argue a case—"

"It's not negotiable. I…I can't see you anymore."

"But _why_, Clive? Surely they would have given you reasons. Or did you not pursue the matter…?"

"Of _course_ I asked them!" Clive slammed his fist against the glass partition abruptly. "Of _course_ I wanted to know! Do you know how many hours I spent quarrelling with countless staff members?"

"What did you learn?" Layton folded his hands over his knee, full attention on Clive.

"They…they told me you've been a bad influence." Clive slumped back in his chair. "They said you're…they said that you've been hurting my 'recovery'."

"I'm sorry, my boy. I had no idea. I am horrified at my own—"

"It's a lie, professor."

"You're lying?"

"They are."

"What brings you to that conclusion?"

"What _wouldn't_ bring me to that conclusion? Ever since you started coming, my mind has grown clearer and clearer. It was as though I was drowning in a sea of chaos and you alone dragged me to calm waters." He laughed bitterly. "I can't say I was much of a help to you, either. So many times I struck out at you in my own blind fury, I…I…"

"No fear, my boy. You didn't wound me at all." Layton gave Clive an encouraging smile. "And I know you can get through this on your own now."

"I—I can't! I can't! I've only gotten this far because of _you_ and you know it!"

"You can, Clive. Believe in your own strength." Layton stood, pressing his hand against the glass. "Perhaps the doctors are right. Perhaps you have to stand on your own now, without my help. I know you can rectify your mistakes."

"I can't!" Clive protested, violently shaking his head. "I can't! I—"

"You _can_," Layton insisted. Clive stopped thrashing and looked up at the professor, pale and afraid.

"I…don't want to," he said quietly.

"But you will." Layton smiled again. "I know you will. You're a good boy, Clive. Serve your time and perhaps we will meet again one day."

"I don't want you to leave!" Clive slammed his own palm against the glass, mirroring the professor. He leaned forward until his brow touched the wall, form wracked with heaving sobs. "I don't…I don't want…"

"But you will," Layton repeated. "You can and you will. I know it. Be strong, Clive."

"It can't end this way!" Clive shouted. "Not again! It can't end like this!"

"End?" Layton said. "My boy, this is no end. Nothing ever truly ends." He gave another little smile. "I should know. I'm an archaeologist."

"But—"

"This isn't an end, Clive. It's a beginning. I'm sure you, the smart boy that you are, can see it, too…?"

"I…"

"Things only end if you _let them_ end, and I'm not willing to allow our friendship to conclude so suddenly. How about you…?"

"I—I want to stay your friend!"

"Good." Layton pulled away from the glass, adjusting his hat and beaming at the boy. "I would like that very much. Now, I expect you to be a model patient until your release, hm…?"

"D-don't go! You—you said we're friends! Friends don't just abandon each other!" Clive cried. He knew it was hopeless. He knew he was acting like a child. He knew he had lost all dignity. He knew all this, yet...he couldn't seem to stop.

"Abandoning you? My boy, I'm not abandoning you at all."

"You're leaving! How can—how can we be friends if we never—"

"Never see each other? Friends are still friends, no matter the distance. Really, now, you're starting to sound like Luke." Layton chuckled.

"Damn it, professor, the difference is that he _can_ see you!"

"Clive, this isn't permanent. It may seem this way right now, but one day you will again be free. Until that time, I expect you to stay strong—if not for yourself, for me."

"For…for you?"

"Yes, my boy. You see, the more resolute you stay, the sooner you're free…and the sooner you're free, the sooner we can meet once more. And," Layton added, "I believe at that time we will no longer be forced to act as prisoner and visitor across a glass wall, but as two equals. Two _gentlemanly_ equals."

"I'd…I'd like that, professor."

"As would I, Clive." The professor tipped his hat one last time and turned to the door. "As would I."


	20. Reunion

**Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Epilogue—**

Sunlight. Natural, unfiltered sunlight.

This was Clive's first impression of the long-awaited outside world. He had never quite realized how _bright_ it was.

But then…he never really had a reason to see the light, when all he knew was darkness.

Clive stood on the front step, savouring the moment. _Freedom at last._ He had what he had desired in his lengthy years locked away: he had _control_.

It wasn't until the initial euphoria began to fade that Clive realized he had no place to return to. Not _really_. His flat had been destroyed in his own rampages through London and his underground city had, of course, been rebuilt for other purposes. Clive still had _some_ money. He could perhaps rent an apartment for the time being…but that would only be a temporary fix. And then there was his _other_ dilemma…who would rent so quickly to a convicted felon? Clive had more enemies than allies in this city.

In fact, Clive only had _one_ ally.

Clive suddenly turned to the front gate, expectant. A glimpse of a top hat, the sound of an old automobile, the familiar smile, _anything_, really, he wasn't picky.

No one came.

Clive sat shakily down on the cracked stone steps, folding his hands over his knees and twiddling his thumbs anxiously. Of _course_ he hadn't come. Clive had been foolish to think he _would_. They hadn't seen each other in over a year. Hell, Clive hadn't even been allowed to _write_ him. He felt silly for having hoped for it.

His joy was leaving him at an alarming rate now, steadily being replaced by despair. What was he going to do? He had no place to stay, no one to stay with. He had no family. He had no friends. He had _nothing._

A thousand times, Clive thought of getting up and walking. Just _walking_. It didn't matter _where_ he walked, as long as it was away. He would walk and walk and walk and…and then what? Where would he be?

_It'd be an adventure,_ said one half of him.

_You're a fool_, said the other. _A childish fool._

He buried his face in his hands. He was being irrational. There must be some logical decision that would take care of this problem. All he had to do was find it.

Then again, finding it was a great part of the problem itself. Logic was useless to him now. He just had to _think_. Creativity had once been his greatest asset. Where had it gone now?

Many things were gone now. He wasn't the same man he once was. Honestly, it scared him a little. _They_ said he was "better". "Better"? He _felt_ no better. All he felt was _different_. _Worse_, even. He was broken now. Broken is by no means "better". Certainly, they couldn't have changed the definition so considerably in the time he was away. No, he did not feel "better" at all. Only…

Only the professor made him feel "better".

Clive groaned. _Stop thinking about the professor_. The professor wasn't going to come. Even if he wanted to—which Clive doubted at this point—he couldn't have _known_ that today was Clive's release date.

Clive was alone in the world again.

His shoulders shuddered as he tried to hold back tears. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn't cry, that he would be strong for the professor. But he was out now, and where was the professor? The professor wasn't here.

"What am I going to do?" Clive groaned, rocking back and forth on the stair. "Where am I going to go?"

A warm hand patted his head gently and he choked, freezing in place. Could it—could it be—could he really have—

"Every puzzle has an answer, my boy."

**AN**: Herf derf, I have no words. Depending on how much work I have/how much I actually remember how to write coherent things, there may be a continuation series set after this. Possibly. I might take a break. I don't even know. Until then, here are some silly almost words to tie you over: dingle-dangle, flibbity-flubbity, wibbly-wobbly fantabulacious chesticles. Cheers!


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